


To Find a Home

by Resamille



Series: That Which Is Left Behind [4]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, Family, Hurt/Comfort, Krolia is a good mom, M/M, Starting A Family, and relevant shenanigans, arguments and working through shit, elemental powers, honestly i have no clue anymore lmao, post-canon/post-war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 02:11:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17437922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Resamille/pseuds/Resamille
Summary: The war is over, and it's finally, finally, starting to feel like that might actually be true.





	To Find a Home

**Author's Note:**

> I think this can be read standalone, but honestly you'll probs be confused hbdfjkhdbfg  
> For context in case you want to read without reading Warmth and Of Lost and Happy Hearts: Keith and Lance have elemental powers and are married. Shiro has molecular manipulation. Katie is a hybrid of Allura and Pidge's souls.
> 
> There's an implied panic attack, but nothing super explicitly written as such imo, but let me know if I should tag uwu.
> 
> quiet reminder that this was written before vld finished and the series started back during like s2, so everyone is in their OG lions, and though I make references to things that happen in s3+, assume this fic is set in an AU where similar things occurred as they did in canon but the ending was different.
> 
> i've proofread exactly none of this LMAO have fun

It starts the way things usually do: fights and fallout.

At one point in his life, Keith would fight and fight and fight because that was how he pushed through it all. He fought for Shiro; he fought for earth; he fought for his family. But now there’s more he needs to think about, like the way Isabella thinks the world of him, and the way Shiro’s expression darkens at the mention of the war, and the way his powers are wild and untamable and unpredictable, just like him.

So when Lance suggests they learn to work with them, fight and fight and fight towards mastery like Shiro has, Keith wants nothing to do with it. He’s not going to take that risk, and he sure as hell isn’t going to isolate himself the way Shiro did in order to achieve something he thinks may just be impossible.

 _If Shiro managed, so can you,_ says the voice in his head, but Keith maintains a stubborn deafness.

But he’s not deaf when he hears the slam of the truck door.

Scrambling up from where he’d been sulking on the couch, he runs outside just in time to hear the engine turn. It stalls, once, every time, and Keith takes his chance. He’s barefoot, dry Texas grass of the front lawn crunching under his feet as he leaps from the porch railing. He climbs in the passenger side just as Lance slams down on the accelerator.

Lance glances over at him through the corner of his eye, not turning his head. His jaw works, teeth grinding, and he presses his lips together in a tight, angry line. Keith watches Lance for a moment before turning to watch the headlights disappear in the distance on the dusty road.

There are better ways to do this. Better ways to work themselves out.

Keith hates it. Hates the situation. Hates that Lance is running from him. Hates that Lance is right.

The clock on the dashboard reads 1:29. The silence ticks by, neither of them willing to start the fight they know they’re going to have. Neither of them willing to finish it. By the time Lance stops driving, it’s well past 3.

Keith licks his lips. He doesn’t turn to Lance. Spins his wedding band around his finger. “So.”

Lance gets out of the car.

Keith’s skin crawls.

He follows at a slower pace, opening the car door almost gingerly. The sound of it closing behind is too loud in the quiet of the still night.

Lance walks further from the car, stepping away from the road and into the adjacent pasture. The ground freezes under his footsteps.

“Lance,” Keith whispers, as if Lance is close enough to hear him—hold him. Not walking away.

What gives it away is the glimmer on Lance’s skin, the sparkle of diamond in the moonlight. Keith’s blood turns as cold as Lance’s body. Immediately, he starts forward, chasing Lance, feeling heat crawl up his spine and cling to his bones in waiting. “Lance,” he says, again, louder.

Lance turns, movements stilted with frost. He glares across the field at Keith. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

Keith freezes. So does Lance. Only one is literal.

The snarl of Lance’s expressions is written in ice, dripping with the venom of anger and lingering Texas heat.

Something snaps in Keith. It's instinct, ingrained from countless bad nights where Lance froze himself unintentionally. Fire leaps to Keith's hands. He tempers it down. Not entirely. But enough he knows he won't burn up.

And then—because Lance said. Because Keith's vindictive enough to let Lance suffer through melting on his own. Because he's still fucking pissed. Because the tiniest part of him wants to know what Lance wants out of this.

So instead of reaching out, he sits down in the dirt.

He draws his knees in, bare toes on the hard ground.

An impasse, and he knows it. Stubbornness and pride turning them against each other, as it did so many years ago.

Keith remembers a Lance who couldn't keep his mouth shut in class. A Lance who's ego was nearly, _nearly_ bigger than his heart, but who made the right decision when it mattered. A Lance who was famous for sneaking out of the Garrison on school nights, yet still somehow had the grades to stay in past his first year, long enough to inherit Keith's place as fighter pilot.

That Lance is one that Keith hates. Insufferable and immature and resentful.

But damn, he wishes he could go back.

If Keith could, he'd take everything back in an instant. That night, when Shiro came back, he'd insist on the others staying behind. Shiro, maybe, would insist and Keith wouldn't be able to stop him, but the others... If he could have told those kids they used to be what the universe would do to them if they stepped into that lion...

He'd do it. Scare the living shit out of them. Save Pidge, just like he couldn't do at the end of it all. Keep Lance from suffering, be it homesickness or survivor's guilt. Let Hunk stay safe and comfortable, happy in his role as engineer.

Keith glances up at Lance, his body glistening under the moonlight. Sculpted in ice, he looks serene. Carved from something ethereal and beautiful.

And then he thinks: as if knowing what the world would put them through would make any one of them change their minds.

As if Keith would be able to stop Lance from becoming a Paladin, when his greatest wish was to see the stars, up close and personal. As if dying was a deterrent for Pidge, knowing they'd get back Matt and Sam. As if Keith could keep Hunk away from the Balmera and every other rebel planet when he cares so, so much.

There's no use in thinking about _what-ifs_. This is how it is. This is where the universe has put them. A million alternate universes are out there, perhaps—a million other answers, a million different results... Where things worked out, or didn't, for the better. Where Keith and Lance are happy.

Or maybe they never met.

But those are other worlds. Other stories.

And there's only one story that Keith can change. It's the one he's living, right now.

He can't bring Pidge back, and he can't bring the lions back, and he can't help Shiro. But maybe he can fix something.

Rising to his feet, Keith makes his way over to Lance. He summons heat to his fingertips, and traces slowly over Lance's frozen limbs, easing him back to life. Steam floats above them, where Keith's hands sluice away ice and water.

He frees Lance's arms first, at least enough until he can reach for Lance's fingers, still producing frost at an impossible rate. Keith threads his fingers between Lance's, curling fire around Lance's ice until it boils away.

Lance thaws the rest of the way soon after.

His gaze is hard.

“I thought I said not to touch me.” His voice is low, cold as the blue lion's gift.

Keith swallows thickly. He looks down at the joined hands. “You're not going to get anywhere if you just charge straight in.”

“Yeah?” Lance retorts. “Says the master of reckless behavior himself.”

Keith tries to keep a lid on his temper. On the fire between his ribs. He exhales smoke. “If Shiro is here, you should take advantage of his offer. Don't just go running yourself into the ground trying to reinvent the wheel.”

“I—” Lance stops. Keith glances up just in time to see the sneer on his face smooth into a more neutral expression. Surprise, perhaps. “You—”

“It's not like I can stop you,” Keith bites out. “Go train with him, if you want. Go learn. But I'm not going to. I'm too dangerous.”

“Keith...” Lance starts. “If anyone...”

Keith drops Lance's hand and turns away. Instinctively, he wraps his arms around himself, as if appearing smaller makes the problems go away. “No.”

“You should—”

“ _No_ ,” Keith snaps. He glares over his shoulder at Lance, and in that moment, meeting Lance's gaze, he remembers that he's _furious_. “This is why we fucking fought in the first place. You want to run off and—” Keith chokes on a noise. It might be a sob. “Y-you want to run off and train and fucking _disappear_ , then _fine_.” He takes in a shaky breath, glaring down at the ground under his toes. “Do whatever you want. I'm not going to be a part of it.”

He hears Lance sigh behind him. Feels a rush of cold as Lance struggles either with his powers or his emotions. Maybe both. Keith can feel the heat rolling off his own body. It's amazing he hasn't started burning his clothes already.

“If you're going to leave me, too, then—” Tears sting at Keith's eyes. “Then just go. You already left once tonight. Why not keep running.”

“Keith,” Lance whispers, horrified. Lance's fingers reach out for him, a cooling touch at his shoulder. “I would never leave you. You know that.”

Keith feels himself deflate, and he collapses against Lance, leaning back against his chest. He doesn't say anything; his throat constricts around a sob.

Lance slides his hands down from Keith's shoulders to his hands, wrapping his arms around Keith in the process. “I'm here,” he says softly, words etching themselves over Keith's skin. “I'm not going anywhere.”

_Hold it together. Hold it together. You're bigger than this—_

Keith's breath hiccups. His mind echoes useless mantras. Useless, because his heart never listens.

“If we're doing anything,” Lance continues. “We do it together, okay?”

Keith nods, once, quick. He bites his lip because he needs to hold on to _something_.

“I'm sorry,” Lance says, though there's some reservation to his voice. Unspoken arguments. He still wants Keith to cave. Stubbornness and pride, and something else. Desires that Keith can't fulfill. Dreams that Lance has had, long before Keith was a part of his life, his family. Long before Keith's opinions has any right to weigh on Lance's decisions.

“I just wish...” Lance sighs out. Keith squeezes his eyes shut. “If we were ever going to start a family—one of our own—we need to get the powers under control...”

“I know,” Keith whispers out. “But I can't—” Tears fall. “I don't know if I can give you that, Lance. I'm not strong enough. I'm not enough—”

“Stop,” Lance interrupts, and Keith's voice stutters into nothing. “It's... not important, okay?”

“It is,” Keith chokes out. “It is to you.”

“No, it's fine,” Lance insists. “You're more important, okay?”

Keith turns. He wraps his arms around Lance, slumping against him. His fingers clutch onto Lance's shirt. “I'm s-sorry.”

Lance rests his cheek against Keith's head. “We should talk about... later,” Lance says to the crown of Keith's hair. “We're pissed and tired and... this conversation is for when we're both in a better place.”

That won't change anything, Keith thinks. That's how this conversation started earlier today, when it was civil and level-headed, and look where it got them. There's nothing keeping them from repeating the same mistakes.

Keith isn't enough.

“Come on,” Lance says, nudging Keith back. “It's late. Let's go home.”

Keith shakes his head. Swallows and tries to get his bearings a bit. “Neither of us should drive.”

“We'll sleep for a bit then,” Lance says. “Come on.”

“Okay,” Keith says softly.

Lance presses a kiss to his temple. “We'll figure something out.”

 

They wake up to the shrill screech of Lance's phone. Lance jolts up from where he's sprawled uncomfortably in the back seat of the truck, scrambling to answer.

Keith blearily uncurls from his place in the passenger seat. He peers over the back of the seat, leaned back to be more comfortable for sleep, and blinks at Lance.

“Yeah?” Lance answers blearily.

Keith faintly hears fast-paced chittering from the person on the phone. Only two people would be that energetic and readily talk Lance's ear off: Isabella and his mother. Keith glances at the clock on the dash. 6:28 AM. So it's Lance's mom, then. Isabella would never be this functioning this early, unless it was one of those exceedingly rare south Texas snow days.

Lance is nodding along—or maybe nodding off—and then he answers. “Yeah, we're, uh... two hours out.”

Keith hears a soft screeching on the other end of the line.

Lance winces. “Okay, yeah, we're... on our way—” He interrupts himself with a yawn. “—back. Yeah, okay. I got it. I'll take them. Bye. You too.”

Lance hangs up the phone. He starts climbing into the front seat, reaching long legs over the console. The whole time, he's muttering. Keith catches enough words to gather he's complaining about his mother ending the conversation with _I love you_ after telling him off two seconds before.

“Isabella needs the car,” Lance announces.

Keith lets out a hum, and works about fixing his seat into position. “She could take my speeder. She's practiced on it enough.”

Lance scoffs. “As if Mom would let her. She wants me back so she can punish me by running errands. One of those is dropping Izzy and Jon off.”

Keith glances at the clock again. “I'll drive us back. We've only slept a couple hours.”

Lance's hands pause where they're reaching to start the car. “You sure?”

“I can crash when we get back. If you're gonna be driving around all day, you should get more sleep.” Keith opens the passenger door before Lance can argue.

Lance sighs, but then he's trading places with Keith. As he gets into the car, Lance reaches for the back seat, plucking out an old college sweatshirt. It's Caterina's; Keith recognizes flashes of the school logo block printed onto burnt orange fabric. Lance folds up the sweatshirt and uses it as a pillow as he slumps against the passenger door.

Keith stares, just for a moment, and then starts the car.

He stops for gas somewhere, even though there's still a quarter of a tank left, just so Lance doesn't have to worry about it later. While he's there, he grabs a coffee and couple of granola bars for himself, and a cinnamon roll for Lance, later. It'll be cold by the time he wakes up, but Lance probably won't mind.

Besides, Keith could always warm it up for him, if he really wanted.

Driving down the road, sunlight painting his hands on the steering wheel in warm hues, Keith can't help but wonder what it'd be like to tame his fire. The concept terrifies him. It's not that he doesn't—it's not that he thinks it's impossible.

He's just not sure if the sacrifice—because he knows, there must be one—is worth it.

Glancing over at Lance, snoring lightly as his head tips back against the window, Keith thinks that maybe it is. Lance is always worth it.

 

There are voices in the kitchen when Keith and Lance get home. Familiarity rings in the lilt of conversation.

Keith stops in the kitchen doorway, keys dangling from his hand, frozen.

Lance, who'd been trailing behind him, bumps into his shoulder. He lets out a squeak.

When, now there are two reasons for Lance to be wary, coming home.

Keith finally finds his voice. “ _Mom_?”

Krolia's head shoots up, face lighting up as she looks up from the table and glances over her shoulder. “Keith!”

In a heartbeat, she's crushing Keith into a hug, squeezing the air out of him. He loses his grip on the key, and they clatter to the floor.

“Isabella! Jonathon!” Lance's mom calls, and Keith hears movement from upstairs. “Lance is here, get going!” She glares past Keith at Lance. “Isabella has a shopping list for you. The truck needs the oil changed. Jon's varsity jacket needs picking up.”

Lance's mom is a force to be reckoned with. This is his punishment for making Jon and Izzy late for school.

Then again, Krolia's no walk in the park either. Lance never quite got over his only mild fear of her. Keith suspects that when Lance was a kid, tradition had beat into him to be afraid of his future girlfriend's dad. Even though reality is about as far from that childhood dream as possible, maybe the expected terror of Lance's in-laws never quite disappeared.

Behind Keith, as he's reaching for the keys, Lance mutters, “Why don't I just save the universe while I'm at it—oh, _wait_...”

“What was that?” Lance's mom snarls.

“Nothing, Mama!” Lance squeaks, and then _bolts_. Keith hears him yelling at Isabella and Jonathon to “hurry their asses up” as he flees to the truck.

“Language!” his mother scolds.

Krolia finally lets go of her crushing hold on Keith, and he draws in the largest breath his lungs can manage. She looks over Keith. “You haven't grown,” she comments.

Keith's brow furrows. “Well, no...”

“No matter,” Krolia says offhandedly.

Keith decides he's too tired to try and puzzle his way through that one. He carefully slips past Krolia blocking his way into the kitchen. “Is there coffee?”

Lance's mom glances at the coffee maker. “Ah, I think we just finished the pot.”

Keith hums out an acknowledgment. He sets about brewing more coffee. God knows he needs it, apparently. He doesn't have it as bad as Lance, he's sure, but right now he wishes he could just sleep.

Keith leans against the counter while he waits. His gaze flicks up to his mother, who's hovering over the table, fingers trailing over a mug. Keith licks his lips. “Mom, what are you doing here?”

Lance's mother glances between them. “I'll leave you two to catch up,” she says, and excuses herself from the kitchen.

“Thank you, Ada,” Krolia says as she retreats. “Kolivan gave me leave for a bit,” she tells Keith after a moment, still staring down at the table. It's then that Keith realizes there are pictures, scattered across the wood. Albums with Lance's baby pictures, a new album with pictures from Keith and Lance's wedding. Krolia traces a finger over one of the photos: Keith and Lance smiling at each other moments after they kissed at the altar.

“I'm sorry I missed it,” Krolia whispers.

Keith feels himself soften. A tiny voice in his head, still bitter, bites out, _it's not like you were there for anything else important_ , but he ignores it. They've reconciled, even if there's tidbits of lingering resentment. Keith understands. He doesn't blame her.

Maybe he's just... Well, there are things he _does_ wish Krolia was there for, and neither of them can change the past, even if they both want to.

“It's fine,” Keith says eventually. “I know how it is. I was a Blade, too.”

“You were,” Krolia agrees. “But still, I wish I could have been there. You look... so happy.”

Keith finds himself smiling fondly. “It was a good day.”

“I'm glad. I saw the recording. You were beautiful.”

Keith lets out an embarrassed huff. “Thanks.”

Krolia picks up her mug off the table and takes a sip. She lets out a pleased noise. “I missed coffee.”

Keith quirks an eyebrow at her. “Really?” he says, suddenly holding back a laugh.

“Yes,” Krolia confirms. “No where else, at least that I've been, has anything quite like it. Most places—the things they have are made to slow time down, since there's usually so little of it. People like to stretch out the serenity while they can.”

“We have stuff like that on Earth, too.”

“But it's less common, yes?”

Keith shrugs. “I suppose. Definitely less popular than coffee.” He reaches for the coffee maker, pouring himself a cup. “Would you like a refill?”

“Please.” Krolia pads over to Keith's side, offering her mug. Keith fills it to the brim, and Krolia immediately takes a sip without bothering to add anything to it.

Keith glances down at his own mug. Normally he'd add sugar, at least, but... After last night, maybe he feels like he needs it. Bitter, to match the lingering feelings.

He takes a sip, only slightly cringing at the taste.

When he looks up, he finds Krolia observing him silently.

Keith clears his throat. “How long are you staying?”

Krolia sets her mug on the counter. “I don't know. A week, maybe. Ada offered me the spare room. I hope you don't mind having me around. I wanted to catch up a little.”

Keith couldn't stop the smile even if tried. “I'd like that.”

Krolia watches him again, gaze kind but calculating. Keith stares back for a second, and then turns to his coffee.

“Is something wrong?”

Keith shakes his head, even as his shoulders slump in a telling motion. “It's nothing.”

“Keith.” Krolia puts her hand on his shoulder. “What's going on?”

Keith opens his mouth. Closes it. He turns around, leaning against his counter. Crosses his arms.

And then he wonders why the hell he's even hesitating. This is his mom. They spent two years together, alone, with nothing but Kosmo and their own words to keep each other company. Keith trusts her with absolutely anything, and if there's anyone he could depend on as a support system except for Lance, it'd be Krolia.

Keith's train of thought derails. “Wait,” he says. “Where's Kosmo?”

“Keith,” Krolia scolds. “Are you trying to get out of talking to me? I get it if you really don't want to tell me, but—”

“No,” Keith interrupts. “I'll tell you—I just—he's normally with you, and—” Keith's eyes go wide. “Oh, God, he didn't—”

“He's in the ship,” Krolia blurts before Keith can spiral. Keith breathes a sigh of relief. “I thought he might be too much in the house. Probably would make a mess. I'm sure he'd love to see you.”

Keith can't help the hopeful expression that takes over his face. Krolia motions with a tilt of her head for Keith to follow, and she leads him out the front door, then around to the back of the house. Her ship is definitely an upgrade from the last one Keith saw her fly. It's still typical of her: slim and sleek and built for speed, because Keith definitely got his acceleration junkie habits from his mom, but this ship is bigger, more comfortable.

He doesn't get within ten feet before he's being tackles to the ground by a creature with easily the same body mass as him as Kosmo teleports right out of the ship and on top of Keith. Keith is laughing as he goes down, fingers automatically clinging to Kosmo's fur.

Kosmo barks in his face, and then begins licking him eagerly, smearing gooey space wolf saliva all over Keith's upper half.

“Hey, Bud,” Keith says between breathless laughs. He pushes at Kosmo's nose to attempt to catch his breath, and Kosmo takes it as an invitation to cuddle, plopping right on top of Keith and shoving all the air out of Keith's lungs.

Keith lets out a wheeze, but he wraps his arms around Kosmo and holds him. “Yeah,” he chokes out. “I missed you, too.”

Kosmo's tail beats against Keith's leg as it wags furiously. Keith eventually has to shove him off so he can breath, but once he's sitting upright, Kosmo settles into his lap and decides that he's going to stay there. Keith accepts his fate as space wolf pillow, and his fingers easily fall into rhythm scritching behind Kosmo's ears.

Krolia sits next to him on the ground. She allows him a moment of peace before she presses. “So, what's going on?”

Keith lets out a sigh. “It's really not that big of a deal... I don't know. It's just—”

Krolia waits patiently for him to get his thoughts together.

But instead of explanation, Keith says: “What made you stay?”

Krolia blinks at him. “What do you mean?”

“When you crashed here, when Dad saved you... Why'd you stay?”

Krolia shrugs with one shoulder, looking down at the grass. There's a faint smile playing on her lips. “I fell in love,” she finally says. “While your father was helping me heal. I fell in love. Does that answer your question?”

Keith presses his lips together. Well, it answers the question he _asked_ , but it's not the answer he wants. He takes a deep breath, glancing up at the sky for answers. “Why'd you decide to start a family?” He closes his eyes against the sunlight. “With the war, and the Empire, you knew that Earth wouldn't be safe forever. You knew you'd have to leave. You knew you risked not only your life, but his and mine, too. So _why_?”

If Krolia plans to answer, Keith doesn't let her, because he just barrels on.

“I mean, what's the point? Even if you _did_ stay, how would you raise a kid, after everything you did? Everything you knew? How could you—how could you bring a child into a world you knew was ready to destroy it?” Keith's eyes squeeze closed, fighting back tears. “How do you raise a child knowing full well that _you_ could destroy it? Ruin everything with just one little fuck up—”

“Keith,” Krolia interrupts gently.

Keith lets his head drop down, and he turns away from Krolia. Kosmo lifts his head to nose comfortingly at Keith's chest as tears drip down onto his fur.

Krolia leans back on her hands. “I'm not sure if I have a real answer for you,” she admits. “It was the same way, with how I decided to stay. I fell in love. You weren't an accident, but I don't know if either of us _expected_ you to happen, either. We weren't even sure—biologically—well... But I'd fallen just as much in love with the idea of having a family as I had with your father. I wanted to have you, and once I did, I fell in love all over again. The rest of the universe didn't matter when I had you in my arms.”

Keith sniffles.

“Is that what this is about?” Krolia asks. “Do you want to start a family?”

Keith wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand. He feels like a little kid, crying 'cause he fell off the swing and scraped up his knees.

“Yeah,” he finally says. “Mostly.”

“So?” Krolia prompts. “What's the problem?”

“I _do_ want a family,” Keith says. “Or, at least, I think so. I know Lance wants a family of our own. I just—I'm so _scared_.

“And that's just the problem,” he continues. “When Lance and I got together, we weren't expecting to even survive the war, much less make it back. But now that we're here... I don't know if... It's not that I didn't want to get married or anything when we first started dated, I just... I didn't think this far ahead. Like you say, I fell in love. I rolled with the punches, but the lion's powers fucked everything up.”

Krolia tilts her head at him. “How so?”

Keith glares down at his hand, resting on Kosmo's head. “They're uncontrollable.”

“Is that so?”

Keith groans. “Shiro—Shiro disappeared for years and mastered them in some remote cabin in the woods or some shit, but I'm not him. I don't have that sort of dedication, and I'm not going to isolate myself from the life I've finally made here just to be able to control it. But I also... I can't have a kid that I'm responsible for when I can't control whether or not I'm going to spontaneously combust.”

“So, get Shiro to train you,” Krolia suggests.

Keith sighs, and flops onto his back. “He already offered.”

“Then it seems like a simple fix,” Krolia says. “What's wrong with that?”

“I—” Keith breaks off. “I guess I'm afraid I can't do it. I'm afraid I won't be able to control it, or I'll hurt Shiro or Lance or someone... I'm worried about being a lost cause. Because right now I can tell Lance that I don't want to try, that it hurts too much, but it'll be worse to tell him I _can't_. That we'll never have a family because I can't control my power.”

“How will you know?” Krolia says softly. “Unless you try?”

“That's just it. I don't. Uncertainty is better than knowing it's futile. When you don't know the odds in a battle, you keep fighting because _you haven't lost yet_. But when you know there's no chance of winning, you retreat.”

“Do you?” Krolia presses.

Keith glances over at her, unsure.

“ _Did you_?” Krolia looks pointedly at him. “When you knew the chances, going against Zarkon? The Empire ruled for ten thousand years. For a lot of us, it was certainly hopeless. But you changed that. You shifted the horrible stasis we'd been in, and gave us _hope_.”

Keith sighs and flops his arm over his eyes. “I guess.”

“Winning the battle,” Krolia says, “has nothing to do with the odds. A thousand without a will to fight can be taken down by one driven fighter.”

Krolia lays back in the grass next to him. “It has everything to do with hope. You know that. You lived it. You fought it. I know you think the war is over, and for the most part, it is, but there will be battles you fight within yourself every day for the rest of your life. This sounds like it's a critical one. So, regardless of the odds—you have to try. Have hope.

“And maybe,” Krolia adds softly. She pauses, as if unsure whether or not to continue. “Maybe one day, when you have a family of your own and years from now, when you're content, you'll remember this day and be glad you were willing to fight.”

Keith turns his head to look at her, annoyed. “I hate how right you are.”

Krolia laughs, and reaches over to ruffle his hair. “I just hope I said the right things.”

Keith raises his eyebrow questioningly at her, but Krolia turns away with a hum, eye closed, and lets the sun warm her face.

 

“We don't deserve to be parents, anyway,” Keith whispers to the floor. He leans against the bed, half-sitting. “How can we, after all we've done?”

“Bullshit,” Lance snaps. “You're not going to do this again. We're the most experienced people there are. If anyone can teach a kid about the wonder and horror of the world, then it's us.”

Keith sighs, gently lifting the blanket and slipping his legs under the sheets. Lance watches him from where he's sat upright on the bed, eyes blazing like the embers in Keith's core.

“That's just it, Lance. We've been through too much. There's no going back after what we've seen.”

Lance doesn't falter. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“A child needs innocence, Lance. They need time to be loved and cared for a grow with... Without the weight of the world trying to crush them. They need a family that can carry that burden until they grow.”

“What better people, then?” Lance growls. “The entire universe—”

“Lance,” Keith interrupts gently. “We're barely managing with just the two of us.”

Lance opens his mouth to argue.

“Besides,” Keith adds quickly, before Lance can get going. He looks into the fire in Lance's blue eyes, passion encased in seastone. “We just got married. Isn't... isn't that enough, for now?”

Lance's mouth closes, and he deflates a little, admonished. “Of course,” he murmurs, voice sweet.

Keith sighs, and reaches for Lance's hand, still fisted on top of the blanket. “I'm not saying yes... but we have time. And maybe someday...” Keith takes a deep breath. “I'll ask Shiro to teach us.”

Lance's face lights up, excited, and his fingers curl around his. “Really?”

Keith nods. After a moment, he laughs. “I can't believe I just said that.”

Lance shifts so that he's leaning against Keith's shoulder. “No take-backs. You said we'd try.”

Keith shakes his head. “Not that. That we have time. In the war, it was always never enough. Too little time for all we had to do. It's like I can't fathom a world where we can... where we can just be. Just sit and _breathe_.”

Lance lets out a hum, acknowledging.

“The world is at our fingertips,” Keith says softly, suddenly filled with the wonder of it.

“The universe,” Lance amends, and Keith lets out a breathless noise that might be a laugh. “Would you go back?” Lance continues. “I mean... not just... alone. Like both of us? Or with Shiro? With Katie?”

Keith runs his thumb over Lance's knuckles, rough, worn, scarred. He considers; then, finally: “I don't know.”

“I think...” Lance pauses to yawn. Keith feels it against his shoulder. “...I'd like to go. Not—not now. You're right. We have time. But I want to go back. I want to see it all again.”

“Sentimental,” Keith comments, as if he's any better. He smiles into Lance's hair. “Go to sleep.”

Lance flings a leg over Keith's lap and lets out a soft noise. Instead of actually getting in bed and sleeping like normal people, they end up dozing against each other, entangled.

 

It takes Shiro about five minutes to revert back into Teacher Mode.

Lance is already over it. Not that Keith was particularly a fan of schooling, either, but he usually at least could sit still for longer than two seconds. But Lance is excited, eager to get going. There's a lightness to his movements and an energy in his gaze that Keith hasn't seen in a long, long time.

Perhaps this will go better than Keith expects.

Nerves, however, still keep him tense and silent as Shiro explains his thought process for taming Black's gift.

Lance raises his hand, like a elementary student. It's even _more_ awkward since they're standing in a circle in Lance's backyard, and not sitting at desks in a classroom.

Shiro cuts off with an amused stutter. Keith can tell he's holding back laughter, and for a moment, Keith pretends they're the people they were years ago, before the weight of the war really hit them, but after they became a team. He has flashbacks to arguing about invisible mazes and feeling the press of Lance's back against his, a firm, reliable force against the training bots advancing on them.

Keith fights to tamp down the fond smile threatening to tug at the corners of his mouth. Lance has no such reservations. He's grinning widely.

“Yes, Lance?” Shiro says, and he breaks into a smile to try and stop the laughter from bubbling out.

“Can we get a demonstration?” Lance chirps.

Shiro's smile falters, falling into something solemn. He's silent for a moment, considering, and then nods. “I suppose. What would you like me to do?”

Lance puts his hand against his chin in an exaggerated thinking position. “What _can_ you do?”

Shiro rubs the back of his neck. “Well... quite a bit. The only limitation I've found is that I can't _create_ new material. I can change something's state or location, and astral project. But I don't think astral projection would be very interesting to watch.”

“I've got it,” Lance says, and jogs over to the trashcan tucked against the side of the house. “Pizza boxes.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Don't we save those for _me_?”

“Yeah,” Lance says, halfway to falling in the trash as he searches, “But you won't need them any more.”

Keith swallows and wishes he had half as much confidence as Lance does in his words.

Lance lets out a triumphant little noise and comes back with two pizza boxes in hand. He passes them to Shiro.

Shiro quirks an eyebrow, but takes them. “What do you want me to do them?”

Lance shrugs. “Something cool?”

“Destroy them?” Shiro offers.

“I mean, they're trash, so... That works.” Lance tries to sound less excited than he looks.

Shiro holds the pizza boxes out, and then he's not holding them. At least, not physically.

The pizza boxes float, completely stationary, in the air. Shiro has his hand out like he's reaching for them, and then brings up his other arm. With a flick of his wrist, one pizza box disappears and then reappears at Shiro's side, still floating.

“Holy shit,” Lance breathes. “That's so cool. Can you do that to people?”

Shiro winces. “I don't really want to try.” He takes a breath. “The lions always had points where their powers manifested. Usually their mouths, sometimes tails. When we got their gifts, it translated to hands. At least, as far as I can tell. I've tried to do things without using my arms, but I think my hands are the source of the power.”

“We've noticed that,” Keith comments. “Though...”

Shiro glances over at him, questioning.

Keith shrugs. “Well, I can breathe fire, if I'm worked up enough. I think the power's in our chests or hearts or some shit. It just channels through our hands.”

“You're probably right,” Shiro says, nodding.

“Okay, okay,” Lance huffs. “Enough theory. I wanna see stuff get blown up.”

Shiro snorts. He turns his wrist, fingers tensing against the air, and Keith feels static raise the hairs on the back of his neck. The atmosphere turns electric, ozone and lightning charging each breath with anticipation.

The pizza box in front of Shiro seems to shake, and at the center, it pulls apart. It's not a rip, not the jagged ends of torn cardboard, but the annihilation of individual molecules. Keith stares, and his eyes hurt trying to bring the scene before him into focus. And then, in the next second, there's nothing there.

There's no sound. No light. Just a little flicker of movement, and then it's gone. The other pizza box soon follows the other into nonexistence.

“Christ,” Lance whispers. “They're just _gone_.”

Shiro's hands drop to his sides. “Well, yeah.”

“Shiro do you know what this mean?” Lance says excitedly.

Shiro's expression morphs into something that's not quite a cringe, but pretty close. “That I'm basically a nuclear bomb waiting to go off.”

“I mean, maybe that too,” Lance admits, but then he looks at Shiro with wide eyes. “But think about it. You could make _bank_ working for a landfill.”

The unpleasant expression on Shiro's face melts away into something vaguely confused and surprised. He starts laughing.

“I'm serious!” Lance insists, even as Shiro leans his hands on his knees because he's laughing so hard.

 

Shiro is standing behind Keith, resting his hands on his shoulders. “It's going to take practice, but for me, it helped to think of the powers as an extension of the lions. They aren't you; they're _with_ you.”

“I already know how call it on command,” Keith says. “That much I have under control.”

Shiro steps away, hands falling to his sides. “Go ahead then.”

Keith puts his hands out, summons fire to his fingertips. He grits his teeth against the anxiety that spikes in his gut. Rarely—if ever—does he call to the flames in his heart unless he needs to, unless they grow restless.

“Relax,” Shiro murmurs. “The fire is on your side.”

“Keith,” Lance says from a few yards away. “You can do it. You're fine.”

“What's the most you've done?” Shiro asks.

“No,” Keith says immediately. “Not safe.”

“Okay,” Shiro relents. “Crank it up, some?”

Keith swallows the fear in his throat, and draws more heat through his fingertips. The flames lick up his arms, greedy. He didn't bother wearing a shirt for this, expecting to burn it off anyway, but if Shiro wants him to burn up, he may as well say goodbye to his jeans, too.

It's different, for him. At least, compared to Lance.

When Lance loses control, he freezes. In the same way that Keith is now immune to fire, the ice won't hurt Lance, but it will render him immobile. That's the terrifying part—the waiting, being trapped. Keith understands why it's horrifying, and he never wants Lance to have to go through that.

But for Keith—he's free, always. Free to burn, and like wildfire, take out everything in his path.

Funny how he'd once longed for that, to be the writer of his own fate.

Now, he'd give anything for someone to take this responsibility from him.

“Can you breathe fire on command?” Shiro asks.

Keith closes his eyes with a grimace. “I could try.”

He doesn't want to do this. He wants keep his flames tucked away, never to taste the air, not if he could do anything about it. But—Keith opens his eyes and glances towards Lance—but he promised to try.

With a deep breath, Keith wills the fire from his palms to flow through him. It simmers in his chest, heat boiling in his blood, and when he breathes, he exhales flames.

They rise in front of him, bright and furious. His vision fills with fire; his heart fills with it, too.

Suddenly, that rocky control slips, and Keith knew this was a bad idea from the start. He can't—he can't—

Heat surrounds him, blazing up, running over his skin. Smoke rises from where his jeans burn, and Keith chokes on the scent of it. There's memories, long repressed. A burning building. Someone dear, lost. Keith's never been strong enough to face the flames.

When he returns to himself, he's kneeling on the ground. Shiro is in front of him, hands on Keith's forearms. Keith tries to tugs free of Shiro's grip because he'll burn him, he'll _burn—_ but Shiro's hold stays true, and, aside from his clothes, he remains unharmed.

“Reel it in,” Shiro whispers.

Keith nods once, and calls the flames in, slowly, jerkily. They listen, grudgingly, only half-willing to let Keith push the fire back down. He hates this.

With the flames gone, the tears start falling down his cheeks, instead of evaporating.

“I'm done,” he croaks out, throat dry. “I can't. Not this.”

He gets up, stumbling to his feet. Keith brushes past Lance on the way back to the house. He can't find it in himself to say _I'm sorry_.

 

“You don't have to,” Lance says later that night.

Keith is curled in the armchair, a blanket wrapped around him and a mug tucked in his hands. Keith stares numbly forward, and doesn't meet Lance's gaze. It aches, to not be able to do this. It aches, to let Lance down.

But this has conquered him.

“I'll come to bed soon,” Keith tells Lance.

Neither of them says anything else.

 

Shiro corners him in the kitchen two days later. Keith doesn't turn to look at him, ignoring the way his skin crawls with the memory of flames.

“I've cursed Black for this,” Shiro says softly.

Keith glances at him, then.

Shiro looks down at his hands: one flesh, one foreign. “I've hated them for giving me this... _gift_.” The word is spit between his teeth. “How dare they, after all we've done. I've hated them for adding this on top of everything else. Like the lions couldn't just let us be, leave us to whatever existence we could muster after the war.”

Shiro sighs, and the hard lines of his face soften. “And then I remember that we're all that's left. That out of something so powerful, so majestic, I'm all that's left. The broken piece. It doesn't matter if I hate Black for the rest of my life. It doesn't matter if we miss the lions or if we ever forgive them. It doesn't matter because we're the lions, now. There's nothing else left.”

“I know what you're trying to do,” Keith says. “But I tried and failed. I'm not going to do it.”

Even so, saying the words out loud make something clench painfully in Keith's chest.

Shiro watches him for a moment. “When you said you made a life for yourself, I didn't realize you'd also lose your fighting spirit. What happened, Keith?”

Keith turns away and mutters, “Fuck you.”

“No, you wanted me around,” Shiro snaps, a rare thing. “You wanted me in your life. You wanted me as a friend. You don't get to pick and choose when you want to listen to me.”

Keith presses his lips together. Fuck Shiro for being right.

“I know you're better than this, Keith,” Shiro says. He sighs. “I know you're better than me.”

Keith scoffs at that. “I don't know what lens you've been watching the world through since after Kerberos, but it's certainly not what the rest of us are seeing.”

“Keith, in all the time I've known you, I've never seen you accept defeat.”

Keith hugs himself and refuses to look at Shiro.

“When we first went to the Blades,” Shiro finally says. “The _knowledge or death_ thing scared the shit out of me. Not because I didn't think you could do it. Because I thought you'd run yourself into the ground before you ever gave up.”

Suddenly, Shiro's in front of him, using his human hand to force Keith's chin up, to force him to meet his gaze. Shiro's eyes are cold. “So what the fuck happened?”

Keith's lungs momentarily fight for air. “I—” he chokes out. “You left,” he manages, and Shiro's hand falls away as if Keith had burned him. For all Keith knows, maybe he did. “You left, and I decided I didn't want to be you. My entire life, I'd wanted nothing more but to surpass you, but then I fell in love... I don't want to treat Lance the way you treated me. Because Lance deserves so much more than I do. So much better than I can give.”

Keith stands up straighter, and suddenly his anger flares. “So you want to know where my fighting spirit went?” he snaps. “It's gone into every single fucking day. It's staying here, with the love of my life, instead of running with my tail between my legs. It's waking up each morning and forcing myself to think 'Today's going to be a good day,' even when I have no idea how to make it happen.”

Keith breathes out, slow and angry. “My fighting spirit isn't gone, Shiro. It's be redirected into survival, to keeping it together enough to keep Lance from falling apart, and to keep myself from falling apart.”

Keith feels himself deflate. “What else is there?” he asks. “Except for survival?”

“So what are you afraid of?” Shiro says softly.

Keith glances up at him. “Failure,” he states. “...Falling apart.”

“You say that like it's all on your shoulders.”

“Isn't it?”

“Someone once told me to stop trying to be leader. To stop trying to bear things on my own.”

Keith snorts. “Fuck you,” he says, but there's no heat to it.

Shiro opens his arms, and Keith goes willingly, leaning into the hug.

“So,” Shiro says, words reverberating from where Keith's pressed against his chest. “Wouldn't it be a step up from survival to be able to master Red's power?”

“I guess,” Keith admits to his shirt.

“So wouldn't it be better for you—for Lance—if you kept trying?”

Keith scrunches up his face in distaste. Mostly because Shiro is right. Again. Everyone just has to prove him wrong, lately. Damn people.

“I... guess.”

“So are you going to try again?” Shiro prompts, releasing Keith.

Keith narrows his eyes at him. “... _I guess_.”

Shiro pats his shoulder. “Good! In that case, come with me.”

“Wait, you mean _now_?” Keith squawks as he hurries to catch up with Shiro.

Shiro leads out to his car in the driveway. “No, but I figured, since I was behind on learning about the wedding, I owe you a wedding present.”

“O...kay?” Keith says. “You really don't have to.”

“It's a gift,” Shiro insists. He gets into his car, and leans over to open the passenger seat for Keith. “I thought you might want a new speeder.”

Keith freezes, halfway through the passenger door. “You're joking.”

“Not at all,” Shiro says kindly. “Unless you'd like something else.”

Keith climbs in the car, settling in his seat. He bites his lip. Thinks of Lance's mom yelling at them to bring the truck back. Thinks of the family that they might have, one day.

Well, if he's going to learn to control his powers, even if it takes forever, even if it hurts or feels like its too much... If he's going to do it, he might as well have a reminder of what he's doing it for. It's not just him, and it's not just Lance. It's the child that Lance wants. The idea of a family. The one Krolia fell in love with, despite everything. The one he's falling in love with, day by day, the closer it gets.

Keith turns to Shiro, gaze excited. “I think I have a better idea, actually...”

 

Later, while Lance is taking the new pickup for a test drive, Keith summons fire to his fingertips, slow and steady and careful, and for the first time thinks that maybe, maybe, he can do this.

 

It's Katie that convinces them to do this.

Though, Shiro doesn't help, either. Maybe he realized he'd turned into a drill sergeant the past few weeks, training Keith and Lance, because he's the final voice that convinces them to join Katie the next time she warps to one of the reclaimed Galra planets.

Or maybe it's just that Shiro missed this, too.

“We've made a lot of progress here,” Katie is saying, leading them through the rebuilt village. “The repairs are going well after after we fought off the Galran slave owner clinging to the Empire's rule here. We just stopped needing to get food supplies shipped in and should be sustainable from here on out. Although, we've had some trouble with prejudice against the Galra... But we just finished building the new facilities for the orphaned Galra that were left here, so things are getting better!”

Keith nods along, only half paying attention.

He hasn't left Earth since the first time, in Blue, and somehow, somehow, between returning to his home planet and now, he'd forgotten some of the wonder of it all.

He'd forgotten, how much he'd fallen in love with the stars.

He'd forgotten, how much he'd wanted to do good in the universe.

He'd forgotten, until now.

Keith watches the bustle of a town reformed. There's construction all around them. The smell of warm food hangs in the air. Children run across their path, playing tag.

Someone approaches Katie and strikes up a conversation. Keith manages to focus long enough for introductions, but then Lance and Katie start talking animatedly with their visitor, and Keith tunes them out in favor of watching a street vendor slice fruit.

Krolia sneaks up behind him while he's distracted. “How's the tour?”

Keith turns to look at her. “How's your's?”

“I thought it best to leave Shiro and Matt alone.”

Keith bites his cheek to avoid smiling. “Shiro won't appreciate that.”

“He will,” Krolia says, firm. “He just won't admit it.”

“He'll blame me for it,” Keith says, absently turning to trail after Katie and Lance, who have started moving again. “He knows I've been trying to set him up.”

Krolia follows. “Does he not think I can be devious on my own?”

“He's too polite for that,” Keith says.

“Polite is not the wrong I would use to describe his obvious feelings about Matt,” Krolia comments.

“Oh my God,” Keith wheezes. “Stop.”

Krolia grins at him, wolfish, and Keith shakes his head at her. But he's smiling.

“What's so funny?” Lance asks from a couple of steps ahead of them.

“Nothing,” Krolia answers easily, serious expression taking over immediately.

Lance turns, walking backwards. He waggles his fingers at them threatening. “I'll have you know I have ice powers and am very dangerous and can make you talk.”

Krolia snorts. “I'd like to see you try.”

Lance lifts his hands higher and makes more odd motions at them. He completes the routine by throwing Keith the finger.

Keith laughs and catches up, slapping at Lance's hand. “You're ridiculous.”

“You seem like you're having fun,” Katie observes.

Lance turns so he's walking in the right direction, and Keith slides an arm around his waist. “We are.”

“So is this your new orphanage?” Krolia asks, and Keith realizes that Katie's stopped walking. The building is two stories, the smell of fresh wood still lingering to it.

Katie nods and beams at them, proud. “We're trying to integrate the Galran children into the native community, but there's a lot of ill feelings still. That's a work in progress. Though, if the animosity keeps up, we might have to move them off-planet. I'm hoping we won't have to. The orphanage is a step in the right direction.”

And it's exactly then that there's an explosion from behind the building, followed by screams.

“Fuck,” Katie says. She runs towards the front of the building, just in time to catch a few of the children fleeing out the front door. “What happened?”

One of the kids shakes their head, ears pinned flat to their hair. “Dunno! But they told us to run.”

“Keep them safe!” Katie nudges the kid towards Lance, Keith, and Krolia, and then she's sprinting past them. “I'm going to get help.”

Krolia nods. She takes the hand of the scared child Katie had shoved towards them. Some, escaping the building, run off and disappear into the the town. Others gather in a scared group around Krolia.

“Where's Kita?” Keith hears one of them ask.

“She's n-not here?” one of the others asks.

Krolia catches on far quicker than Keith does. She kneels down in front of the children. “Are there still people in the building?”

Keith feels his blood run cold as he watches flames flicker through the upstairs windows, and hears, behind him, the quiet reply of “Yes. They w-were playing upstairs.”

Keith bolts for the building before he knows what he's doing.

Behind him, Krolia's body twitches after him, aiming to follow instictively, but Lance catches at her arm.

“He'll be okay,” Keith hears Lance tell her.

Good. Keith doesn't want to have to worry about either of them getting hurt.

Heat, instantly, assaults him. Whatever had been used to attack the orphanage caught quickly, and the entire building is covered in flames. He takes one last deep breath of smokeless air and calls upon Red's power.

Holding out his hands, he pushes the flames away. He hopes its not this bad upstairs, or else he'll be going in to rescue nothing more than charred bodies.

The stairs creak under his feet, and the fire fights against him until he wrangles it into submission through sheer force of will. He will not be conquered by this. Not again, not after how hard he's tried.

Some of the banister on the stairs has already fallen away, and as Keith makes his way up, he hears the harsh crack of wood behind him. He needs to hurry.

“Hello?” Keith calls from the top of the stairs. The hallway is still in flames, but the heat is less oppressive than downstairs. There's still a chance. “Where are you?”

Keith thinks he hears something, but he can't pinpoint what the noise actually is. Maybe it was a whine, or a thud, or maybe—maybe it was just fate, some divine guide. Maybe it was Red. He heads in the direction of the noise, gingerly opening doors as he goes.

He finds the kids huddled together in one of the far rooms, yet untouched by fire because the door had been closed. He breathes a sigh of relief, and then coughs.

“It's okay,” Keith says softly, as gentle as he can manage after he recovers. His hand, holding the fire back behind him, is trembling. “I'm a p-pala—” He stumbles over the words, but they choke out of his throat anyway. “Paladin of Voltron. I'm going help. You're okay.”

Keith's eyes sting. The smoke is a by-product. He can't control it.

“Use your shirts,” he says, and motions with his own to demonstrate. “Cover your nose. Stay close to the ground.”

There's shuffling movement in the small, terrified group. Keith does a headcount. One, two... Six. No, wait—seven. His gaze falls to one child in particular, lilac arms clutching at a bundle of fabric.

The bundle wiggles.

“ _Oh,_ ” Keith breathes out. He motions with his hand. “Give it to me.”

The child hesitates. Keith doesn't have his suit or the lions to back up the Castle's translations, so maybe there's a language barrier. Well, maybe...

Keith summons a noise from deep in his chest, pulling it from the depth of his lungs. It's a low growl, a sort of steady humming sound that reverberates across his skin. Lance calls it a purr.

It's a rare noise for Keith. It's instinctive and Galran. And it works.

The child steps forward, metaphorical shields falling away, and gingerly holds up the bundle.

Keith glances over his shoulder to the flames behind him. If he drops his arm...

He crouches, each movement a decision. He carefully takes the baby from the child, shuffling slowly until he has it pressed against his chest in one arm, hand under its head.

Lance had taught him that, when they went to go visit one of Lance's cousins who'd just had a baby. Keith was easily overwhelmed by it.

Now, though, he keeps it together, if barely. There's a hint of skin peeking from under the cloth, but Keith can't see the baby's face. Which is good, because then the smoke should be less of a problem.

“Okay,” Keith says, straightening. “Come with me.” And just in case, he purrs again, with an added click of noise that should roughly translate into a _follow me_.

Keith turns tot he flames. They lick and reach for him, traitors. They betrayed him years ago, and they do so now, but he can tame them. As he walks forward, the flames part for him. A circle of safety amongst an inferno. The children gather around his legs, clinging close.

“You can't have them,” Keith whispers to the fire. “You stole from me. You have me now, but you can't have them.”

One child reaches up an latches on to the hem of Keith's shirt. Keith purrs at them. Reminds them that they're okay. They're safe with him.

They pass the burning hallways with ease. Slow, but careful, Keith leads them through the building.

The stairs are a trickier problem. Keith can control the flames, but he can't keep the kids safe from falling through rickety infrastructure. But there's no other way. He'll have to risk it.

Keith presses his shoulder to wall the stairs line against. From what he can tell, it's cool. Hopefully the structure is strongest there, if there's no fire on the other side of the wall.

Keith motions with his head, tongue clicking instructions. He uses his body to nudge the children into place and starts lining them up along the stairs. One, two... They move with slow, terrified steps, and keep glancing back uncertainly at Keith as he keeps the flames at bay.

Three, four, five.

Keith is halfway through a purr to urge the sixth down the stairwell when he hears a voice.

“Keith!”

“Katie!” Keith calls back. His voice is rough from the smoke. He coughs. “Are you at the entrance?”

“Yes!” Keith can hardly hear her voice over the crack of fire and creak of burning wood.

“I'm sending them down. Can you get them the rest of the way out?”

“Got it!” Katie's voice calls, closer.

Keith sees her head pop up at the bottom of the stairwell. She says something to the kids, encouraging, and gathers the first few around her. Flames begin to encroach from behind her, but Katie turns and flares a wall of magic up. Keith breathes a sigh of relief.

And then he hears the stairwell give way.

The last child is only a few steps down when the floor begins to give out under them. They let out a terrified noise as they start to fall.

Keith lunges forward, making sure to land on his side so he doesn't crush the baby in his arm.

His hand latches onto the child's tiny arm, just barely catching them.

Behind him, no longer held back, the flames rush forward, tickling over his legs. So much for this pair of pants.

The other children, screaming, tumble down the stairs. Keith is sure, they didn't reach the bottom without some nasty cuts and bruises, but its better than it could be.

“Keith,” Katie calls.

Keith looks down at the child, swinging from his grasp. Then at Katie. “Can you catch?”

Katie stares at him for a moment, and then nods resolutely.

Keith swings the kid, who keeps his fearful gaze on Keith for only a moment before it flicks over to Katie and sticks there.

Keith grunts as he lets go, putting as much force behind the toss as he can, and the child flies towards Katie.

She doesn't quite catch him, but her magic does: a flat shield of magic, slanted, so that the child slides right into her arms.

The building creaks ominously.

Keith glances up warily. He sits up, pushing back the flames currently turning his jeans into shorts now that his hand is free.

“Get them out,” he tells Katie. “I'll figure something out.”

Katie calls out an affirmative, and Keith thinks he hears her grumbling something about “...if Shiro were here...”

 _If Shiro were here_ , Keith thinks, _but he's not_. _Just me_.

Keith looks down at the bundle in his arms. _I don't need Shiro_.

But he does need a way out. It's only one flight of stairs, even if is long drop. He could jump. He's probably make it, but the splitered wood below him makes for a dangerous landing. He thinks for a moment.

Standing, Keith carefully makes his way back to one of the bedrooms. Half of the room is in flames, hungrily consuming toys and blankets, but the other half is traversable. Keith kicks a flimsy mattress out to the stairwell and drops it down. It'll have to do.

The wood creaks under his feet as he moves into place, just barely holding his weight. Keith wraps his arms around the precious thing held tight against his chest.

And jumps.

The landing is rough, but he doesn't break his legs on a bad fall. His back hits hard against a beam under the thin mattress, bruised, certainly, but no permanent damage.

The baby lets out a whimper and wriggles, displeased. But it's okay.

Keith picks himself up, quick to fend off angry flames.. He makes his way around the ruins of the stairwell. Smoke still stings at his eyes as he stumbles toward the exit. Burned wood creaks above him. He sees the white light of sunlight between the lick of fire.

He's in the entryway, almost out, when the beam above him gives away with a terrifying crack.

Instinctively, Keith's fire leaps to his fingers, but then the baby moves in his hands, and Keith desperately pulls the heat back. He can't hurt it. Instead, he curls around it and prays.

There's a thud, and Keith feels nothing.

Confused, he glances up, only to see Lance standing in the doorway, chest heaving and gaze scared.

Keith skitters towards him like a scared animal, and together, they stumble away from the building, limbs running on adrenaline and fear.

Keith leans against Lance as he catches his breath.

“I swear to God,” Lance is saying, but Keith isn't listening.

Instead, he's drawing away fabric in his arms, revealing a tiny face and brown skin.

Lance's words stutter off into a quiet, “Oh.”

Krolia is suddenly at Keith's other shoulder, peering over. “Ah,” she says quietly. “No wonder you went back. She's like you.”

Keith blinks down. He opens his mouth to say something, but the words choke him like smoke.

In his arms, she opens her eyes, a striking violet, and then proceeds to cry, loudly.

Keith stares down at her, awed. _She's like me_.

He knows he should give her to Katie to check her health, but he can't let go.

He can't let go.

 

Shiro does show up later to help with damage control. Keith can tell he blames himself for not being there.

Keith doesn't fault him, though.

They all need to get over the guilt of enjoying things. Bad things happen in the universe all the time—they can't be there to stop all of them.

But they were here to help with this one. Keith doesn't blame Shiro for that in the least.

 

“Does she have a name?” Lance asks after Katie gave the all clear on the baby's health.

Keith has her in his arms again, letting her doze against his chest as Krolia stands next to him and marvels at her. Keith glances at his mother, wonders if this brings back memories. Wonders if they're bittersweet.

“Not officially,” Katie answers. “They...” She chuckles, and grows suddenly bashful. “They've actually nicknamed her Pigeon until she gets adopted.”

“Pidge,” Keith corrects, and smiles down at her. “For now, we'll call her Pidge.”

 

Pidge is an accidental addition to the visitors staying in the castle. Their trip to the planet has turned out longer than they originally planned since Katie has to stick around to figure out who started the fire, as well as find homes for the kids who no longer have an orphanage. Some of the foster families who had been taking care of them before are willing to help again, but others...

In the meantime, the kids are staying in the castle's many rooms.

Lance and Matt are playing with them in the training room, now.

Krolia passes through the lounge, where Keith is sitting with Pidge on his lap. She pauses long enough to give him an uncanny knowing look, and then continues towards the kitchen.

Keith scowls after her, but then Pidge grabs at his hair, and he returns his attention to her.

“You seem attached.”

Keith had expected the first quip to come from his mom, but apparently she can hold her tongue longer than his best friend.

Shiro sits down next to Keith.

Pidge is in the process of trying to chew on Keith's wedding ring. “Maybe a little.”

“You could, you know...” Shiro says cryptically. “It's sooner than you'd wanted, I know, but...”

Keith swallows thickly. “It's not my place,” Keith says. “Even if I'm attached.”

“Talk to Lance,” Shiro says.

“Have you talked to Matt, yet?” Keith counters, deflecting.

“Not the conversation we're having right now,” Shiro says. He sighs. “But, yes, I'll have you know. We're working on it.”

“Oh,” Keith breathes out.

“So now you can't use that as an excuse. Be an adult, Keith. Talk to Lance. I doubt Katie would mind if you adopted her officially.” Shiro reaches for Pidge, picking her up and holding her in the air until she shrieks happily at him.

Keith feels something tug in his chest. He remembers a conversation with Lance, weeks ago, now: _we don't deserve to be parents_.

But, looking at Pidge, Keith wonders, _why the fuck don't we?_

 

Keith spends another day thinking about it. Neither Krolia nor Shiro press. He's grateful for that.

 

“We used to get into all sorts of shit in here,” Lance says, wistful, as he digs through the cupboards in the castle's kitchen. “Holy shit! Remember those scaultrite cookies Hunk made?”

Keith glances up from where he's stirring a mug of—well, it's not tea. Not exactly. It's something. “You did _not_.”

Lance extracts a bag of blue-tinted “cookies” from the cupboard. “I did. Do you think they're edible?”

Keith snorts. “They weren't even edible when Hunk first made them. I don't think they get better with age.”

“You never know,” Lance counters, opening the bag and reaching for one.

“Don't you _dare_ ,” Keith says. “I won't kiss you for a week if you eat one of those. If you even can.”

Lance looks between Keith and the bag, and the corner of his mouth twitches. Eventually, he withdraws his hand from the bag. “Not worth.”

Keith chuckles. And what he means to say is some quip about having Lance wrapped around his little finger. What he says, instead, is: “What do you think about adopting Pidge?”

Lance freezes, and, when Keith looks up from his not-tea, he finds Lance staring at him, eyes wide.

Lance licks his lips, slowly. “You're... You're not joking?”

Keith bristles, probably because he's nervous and won't admit it himself. “Why would I joke about that?”

Lance holds up his hands, placating. Tentatively, a smile creeps across his lips. “I... I'd like that. Adopting Pidge.”

Keith nods, and swallows the giddy feeling rising in his chest. “Just like that?”

Lance steps closer and wraps his arms around Keith's waist. “Did you think you'd have to convince me? I'd thought I'd have to convince _you_.”

Keith leans his head back against Lance's shoulder. “I suppose you have a point.”

Lance presses a kiss to Keith's jaw, under his ear. “Are you sure?”

There's not a hint of hesitation in Keith's heart. Really, he thinks he decided when he'd first held her. He hadn't intended for this to happen, and yet, like it was for Krolia, it doesn't feel like an accident, either.

Sometimes, the universe takes pity on them. Sometimes, the universe gives them something special. There was a time that Keith had wondered if he'd used up his quota for _good things_ when he married Lance, but now, he thinks that maybe he's just been saving up for this moment.

“I'm sure,” Keith says.

 

Katie is delighted when Keith and Lance approach her with the request to adopt Pidge. There's some half attempts at paperwork, but it's not like anything they sign in space is legal on earth, so they'll have to work on that later. For now, Keith looks down at the child in his arms, and realizes he's fallen in love.

“What do you want to name her?” Katie asks.

“Yorak?” Krolia supplies, and Keith sends her a withering look. Krolia makes a noise that can only describe as a disappointed sniff. “I just like the name.”

Keith rolls his eyes.

Lance chuckles and glances over at Katie. He bites his lip. “What about Allura?”

Katie lets out a faint noise, touched.

Keith smiles. “Perfect,” he says.

 

Keith's awoken by crying.

Lance grumbles and rolls over, mumbling something about how he'd _dealt with this enough with Jon, so_ why...

Keith sits up and shoves his pillow over Lance's head. “I'll check.”

Keith doesn't turn on the light, because he's nice and he'll let Lance sleep. For now, until they finalize buying that house a few miles closer to town, Allura's crib is tucked into their bedroom with them. So instead, Keith snaps his fingers and summons the flicker of candlelight to the tips of his fingers.

It doesn't phase him anymore.

He doesn't question it, as warm light is cast across Allura's face, as he leans over the side of her crib, and, with his free hand, reaches to hold her tiny, flailing, hand in his.

She doesn't stop crying, not immediately, but she quiets, and looks up at him with wide eyes, blinking tears onto lilac skin.

“Hey, Kiddo,” Keith coos softly. “What's wrong?”

She lets out a whine, something soft and pleading, and Keith melts. He douses the fire in his hand and picks Allura up, tucking her into his arms, and treasures this moment.

“She okay?” Lance's sleepy voice murmurs from the bed.

“She will be,” Keith answers, soft.

“Bring her here,” Lance says as he sits up.

Keith shuffles over, careful to not knock into anything in the dark. He settles on the bed next to Lance, and Lance carefully takes Allura from him. Keith watches as he presses a kiss to her forehead, and then Lance begins to sing.

Keith leans his head against Lance's shoulder, and lets out a rumble of a definitely-not-purr. Allura responds to it, in kind, letting out a soft noise.

And this—right here—is what Keith was once so afraid of.

This, right here, is now what he treasures forever.

 

And thus it ends, the way things do.

 

**Author's Note:**

> well. here we are. this is the end of this series. thanks for making it this far.


End file.
